


Surf's up

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:31:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: When Belle French offers to teach his son to surf and invites Mr. Gold along, all the landlord can do is take her up on her offer.





	Surf's up

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Inkfire for the wonderful beta job.

"Papa?"

"What is it, Neal?"

"Can we go to the beach?"

"I don't think that's a good idea, son," Mr. Gold says, looking up from the paper he is reading in the thankfully cool recesses of their large home. "It's awfully hot today. It would be better to go later this week, when the temperature has dropped a little."

"But almost everybody is going to be there this afternoon and I want to go too."

"As I've told you more than once, 'everybody else is doing it' has never been a good reason for anything."

"Miss  _French_ will be there."

Freezing, the landlord doesn't like the meaningfulness of his son's words, let alone his intent expression. Mr. Gold has always made certain that no one knew of his entirely inappropriate infatuation for the impossibly lovely librarian, and he is certainly going to keep it that way.

"I don't see how that changes anything."

"She has offered to teach me to surf."

For a fraction of a second, the image of a bikini-clad Belle French straddling a surfboard in rocking waves scorches through his mind. Inwardly scolding himself for his perversion, he methodically erases said vision, making certain to keep his face a mask of neutrality.

"Why would she do  _that_?" he asks, scrutinizing his twelve-year-old.

"We have to read a book about sports for Mrs. Nolan's class. I didn't know what book to choose, so this morning I asked Miss French for advice. The one she suggested is about surfing," the boy says enthusiastically, holding up the very book he is reading—whose cover, indeed, prominently features a few surfboards. "She says surfing is really cool, and that it's her favorite sport. She showed me a few videos on her phone and they were  _awesome_. She could probably tell how much I wanted to try surfing for myself, because she said that she could teach me if I wanted!"

Neal looks expectantly at him,  _beaming_  and practically brimming with hope. The landlord sighs, knowing that he's going to need to have a very serious talk with the librarian for offering things like this without speaking to him first. That is, if he is able to get more than three words out when he's actually face to face with her, which he usually avoids at all costs.

Indeed, he is rather envious of his son, who spends every Saturday morning in the library—and thus with the librarian. Now he wonders whether it's such a good idea after all for his boy to spend so much time with the woman he clearly looks up to—the woman his utterly undeserving father is in love with.

"Can I go, papa?  _Please_?"

"Neal, I really don't think…"

"She says I can only go when I have your permission and when you're present to supervise."

"You said for yourself that there will be a lot of people on the beach. I don't know much about surfing, but I do know that it will probably take you quite some time to get it right—if you are able to manage it at all. Do you really want to go through that with all these people you know watching you?"

This painfully reminds him of the humiliation he went through himself, what seems like a lifetime ago. It's an experience he wants to protect his son from at all costs.

"Miss French suggested that we practice at a quiet beach, a few miles from the main one. She says it's actually much easier to reach by car than the one in town."

Alarm bells should be going off in his head when Neal ceremoniously presents him with a printout of a map, which just happened to be between the pages of his book—but all the landlord can do is stare reverently at the hand-scribbled directions in the margin, which can only have been produced by Belle French.

"She will arrange for all the equipment," Neal adds, ever so hopeful. "All I have to take is my swimming trunks and a good mood—and you, of course!"

Mr. Gold sighs again, looking from his son to the admittedly easy to reach location on the map. He isn't quite certain whether it's because of his boy's almost tangible desire to go out and have fun in a way he rarely can, due to being the child of the most feared and loathed man in town, or because of his own, far less acceptable desire to be in any close proximity to the woman he has lost his heart to.

"All right," the landlord relents after a long moment. "Go get ready."

~

As soon as Mr. Gold and Neal arrive at the beach, they spot Belle before even leaving the car. His son is free to press his nose to the glass and gasp in awe at the skills of the woman currently riding the waves like she's taking a mere stroll, but the landlord has to at least park the vehicle without crashing it before he can admire her—hopefully without revealing his feelings for her either to his son or, most importantly, to the so very lovely librarian herself.

Neal is out of the car before it's fully standing still, and the landlord focuses on the simple task of gathering their belongings without displaying any of the eagerness he actually feels. By the time he reaches the beach, his son is already in the water, splashing happily as Belle approaches him.

Masking his struggle in the soft sand of his abilities, he settles himself on the beach chair he had the foresight of taking with him. Still not really allowing himself to look at her, he first retrieves a pair of dark sunglasses from his breast pocket, carefully positioning them on his nose.

Only then does he dare to actually look at the woman in the water… and he immediately almost wishes he hadn't. And yet he can't tear his eyes off her, his breath quickening as he takes in the vision of her in the sea, so stunning that she might as well be ethereal.

The pawnbroker can only stare at her when she effortlessly balances on her surfboard in the waves, water splashing all around her—probably showing Neal her skills, no doubt at his request. It's a revelation to say the least that the woman he usually associates with books, high heels and bright smiles is in fact one and the same with this accomplished athlete… this very accomplished and barely dressed athlete, that is.

Indeed, to his deep shame, the athletic aspects are mostly lost on him. Very grateful for the fact that his eyes are covered by his sunglasses, he can think of nothing but the many, many parts of her glistening and wet body her bikini leaves bare. It's difficult enough not to stare at her whenever she's wearing one of her many short skirts, but this is something else entirely.

Shifting uncomfortably, his body reacting in all the ways it shouldn't, Mr. Gold quickly redirects his gaze. Looking pointedly at the warm sand around his impeccable shoes, he reminds himself that he should banish these highly inappropriate thoughts about her, especially now that she's doing his son—and him as well—such a favor.

Keeping that resolution is a lot less difficult than he feared once Neal himself starts his improvised lesson. Highly appreciative that Belle has also thought of providing a life vest for him, just in case, his boy is clearly thrilled to be taught the basics of surfing.

Soon enough, he's paddling in the water on a smaller board the librarian provided for him as well, trying to stand up on it when it's propelled forward. He falls off more often than not, but that clearly doesn't deter him from having a lot of fun.

Only when a shadow falls over him does he realize that he's smiling… and that his attempts not to look at Belle have worked so well he didn't notice her approaching him. One glance tells him that she's right in front of him, dripping wet, and that this completely forbidden sight is by far the most tempting one he has ever seen.

"Don't you want to come into the water as well?" she asks, sounding as if there were nothing she'd like more than for him to join them.

"I'm perfectly comfortable here, thank you," he replies, increasingly grateful for his sunglasses, even as he can no longer deny that the sun really is very hot.

"You don't have to try to surf if you don't want to, obviously. But it's such lovely weather to go for a swim. Or you could just paddle on my board for a while if you like, or…"

He doesn't know how or  _why_ , but there's something in her excited expression that tells him not only that she wouldn't mind if he were to join her in the water, but that she, for some reason, actually  _wants_ him to.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to wade a little."

Even as he is saying those words, he knows that he'll come to regret them one way or another, though there's something in her smile that makes him want to get into the water, too… to do anything to please her, really.

The correctness of that knowledge is proven to him yet sooner than he thought. Before he has even stood up, he becomes aware that he's still wearing his shoes and socks… and that there's no way he can get out of them in any dignified manner while sitting in the foldable chair he brought—or standing on his bad leg, for that matter.

"Do you need any help with that?" she asks sweetly while looking down at his feet, as if she could somehow read his mind.

"I…"

He doesn't quite trust himself to speak, but he nods regardless, almost stupefied, curious to see what she might do. Only when she kneels down at his feet and matter-of-factly reaches for his shoelaces does it fully dawn on him that this isn't merely a theoretical exercise.

Swallowing heavily, he vaguely feels that drawing his feet away from her would be rude enough to appear yet worse than actually letting her get through with this. Gripping the tiny armrests of the chair so hard he almost breaks the cheap plastic, all he can do is watch while she sets herself on her task.

He has rarely seen anything more unusual than Belle sitting in front of him like this, carefully pulling his shoe from his foot like it's the most normal thing in the world. He's breathless by the time she has removed his sock as well. The sweatiness of his body and the by now doubtlessly unpleasant smell of the garment is another belated realization, but she only smiles up at him when she takes it off.

"Much better, isn't it?" she simply asks while removing his other shoe and sock in a similar fashion.

All he can do is nod in response, bewildered.

"There you are, all ready for the beach," she says, standing up again and offering him her arm, once more acting as if he weren't the town monster.

"That's not true," Neal calls from the water, having seemingly followed the proceedings on the beach. He dreads to think what his son might have thought while watching the librarian and his father. "You can't go into the sea without proper swimwear, you've told me that  _hundreds_ of times!"

Mr. Gold glares at the boy, unable to think of a sufficient response. He had never thought that all the times he prevented his son from jumping into the ocean with all of his clothes on would ever come back to haunt him, but here they are.

"I suppose he's right," Belle replies, looking at him expectantly.

"I don't own any beach or swimming attire," he mutters, disappointed despite himself.

For just a moment, the briefest of moments, the notion of not going into the water with Belle is dismaying enough to offset the fact that at least this will spare him the shame of showing her what he looks like without all of his layers impeccably in place.

"I beg to differ," she says, reaching for the bag his son packed only an hour ago.

His mouth falls open in a way that doubtlessly only adds to his unpleasant nature when she pulls out a pair of swimming trunks that is clearly too large to be his son's… but would probably fit  _him_  quite nicely.

"How on earth…"

But the question of how those swimming trunks ended up in his son's bag—and, just as bizarrely, how the librarian knew where to find them—is lost when she holds them out for him to take.

"You'll be much more comfortable," she tells him.

He is quite convinced that he couldn't ever be any less comfortable than when wearing anything like that in anyone's presence, let alone  _hers_ , but her expression is so delighted and joyous that he can't help but take them from her.

"Just put them over your underwear," she adds.

The mention of that last word fully reminds him of what she apparently wants him to do. Freezing, he stares at her with quickly increasing discomfort.

"I'm not asking you to do anything you don't want to do, of course not," she says, her expression yet kinder than it was before. "But please don't be afraid to lose a few more items of clothing. There's nothing to be afraid of here. It's just the three of us."

He nods, finding that there's a sudden lump in his throat. He can only blame his pathetic eagerness as the reason why he allows her to persuade him.

"I'll close my eyes," she adds, immediately doing so and covering them with both her hands for good measure.

It's on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he can't change his clothes while standing on the unruly sand without a stable chair—or, better yet, a bed—right next to him. But once again, he finds he wants to opt for the exhilarating unknown just this once.

"It'll take a moment," he warns her.

"That's fine, I'm not going anywhere. Unless you want me to, of course."

"That's not necessary at all, Miss French. Unless  _you_ want to, naturally."

"I'm perfectly happy to be here."

He has no idea how that can possibly be true, but his trust in her doesn't waver. In fact, there's a strange sense of comfort when he carefully takes off his trousers. It's a heady realization indeed to find that the world doesn't come to an end after all when he bares himself like this in front of the woman he is in love with… the woman who, so far, hasn't made any sign of intending to either humiliate him or take advantage of him one way or another.

Time passes not nearly as unpleasantly as he expected, either, as he pulls the swimming trunks over his boxer shorts with great care. Somehow, they fit him perfectly, even though he has never seen them before in his life.

He takes off his waistcoat and his dress shirt as well, his suddenly clumsy fingers struggling with his cufflinks and sleeve garters. The pawnbroker feels oddly…  _light_ as he strips himself of most of his usual layers, as if he were losing some kind of dread rooted inside of him while shedding his proverbial armor.

Trembling hands or not, he isn't particularly anxious when he decides that he's going to proceed like this—that the impossibly lovely librarian is indeed going to see him with so much of his body uncovered. He's still wearing two layers to protect the most ridiculed part of him, and there's  _no way_ that he'll part with his undershirt, but he feels like he might as well be naked.

And yet, Belle  _beams_  at him when she opens her eyes again after he tells her he is done. He is very much aware of the way her gaze runs over him for a fraction of a second, lingering on his bad ankle for half that time, but there's no sign of even a hint of disgust as she does so.

"Let's go into the water?" she suggests.

He nods his agreement and she offers him her arm in response. Somehow, there's nothing easier than linking their arms and allowing her to help get them to the sea, their progress through the hot sand slow but certain.

With the librarian at his side, Mr. Gold doesn't hesitate for even a second when they wade into the water together. His son is cheering them on from the surfboard on which he's still balancing, but the usually so welcome sound of his boy's happiness barely registers in his mind.

The pawnbroker briefly closes his eyes and inhales deeply in sheer joy when the waves lap at his ankles, their coolness a lovely contrast to the delightful if intense warmth of her arm in his. For once, he is actually eager to find out what the next moment will bring, but he remains right where he is for now, drinking everything in.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" she asks softly.

When he opens his eyes, he's surprised to find her looking at him rather than at the waves and the horizon.

"Very much so," he replies, looking straight back at her.

"You can use my surfboard, if you like," she says, gesturing at the equipment still lying on the beach. "You can paddle around a bit, or just float on it in the ocean… I can very much recommend both options."

"That sounds delightful," he says, though overcome with the sudden realization that both those activities are probably to be undertaken without her direct nearness.

No matter how pleasant it has grown to get into the water on this particularly lovely summer day, Mr. Gold finds that there's nothing he'd rather do right now than stay with her for at least a little while longer.

"Let's get a bit deeper into the water first?" he suggests, relieved to have come up with a reason for Belle to stay close to him just a bit more, no matter how overeager it probably came out sounding.

"Of course."

They continue their slow journey into the surf. As the water rises to his knees and subsequently to his thighs and lower back, he can't help but wish that the relationship between the two of them could also gain depth.

"I don't think we should go much further without a surfboard. The currents here can be pretty tricky."

He'd very much love to remain standing there with her for a very long time, the waves lapping gently at their bodies and the sun shining warmly down on them, but the pawnbroker is only too aware that he no longer has a reason to ask her to stay by his side.

"Would you like me to get my surfboard for you?"

"That would be lovely, yes, thank you," he replies, knowing only too well that there's no reason whatsoever for her to remain near him now, but that she might stay close for possible assistance once he is on her board.

The ache of no longer being right at her side reaching, much to his frustration and despair, to his very bones, Mr. Gold finds that nothing of the scene is remotely as pleasant as it was just a moment ago now that she isn't right there anymore to enjoy it with him.

But she's back at his side soon enough, offering him her surfboard and helping him to lie down on it. It is a bit disheartening at first that he does not have his feet planted on the sand beneath the water any longer, but she remains holding on to the board on her own accord, and he soon gets used to the gentle rocking of the board that's keeping him afloat.

"You can fold your arms on the board and rest your head on them, if you like," she tells him. "I personally find it very relaxing to just float like that. You don't have to pay attention to the currents; I'll make certain that you won't drift off."

He does as she suggests, nodding at her in acknowledgement when he finds that he also enjoys lying on the board this way.

"Why don't you stay like this for a while? I'll leave you in peace to relax, but I'll keep an eye on you and your son to make certain that nothing happens, of course."

Before he can say anything in response, Belle has dived beneath the surface, abruptly distancing herself from him in a splash of water and glistening legs. Telling himself that this is for the best, he does as she advised.

Stretching himself out on the board, his feet dangling in the water and his head resting on his folded arms, a very contented sigh escapes him. It would never have occurred to him to do anything remotely like this if it hadn't been for Belle, but now that he's actually floating around in the gentle waves, there's no denying how pleasant this is.

The pawnbroker even smiles when his half-open eyes shift between his son, the boy managing to stay standing on his board for longer and longer, and Belle, who resurfaces dozens of feet away from him to start swimming powerfully along the shoreline.

Relaxed in a way he hasn't been in a long, long time, he idly notes how much he enjoys the contrast of the cool water lapping at his legs and the front of his torso and the warm sun burning down on his back. In fact, it would probably be better yet if he could feel both the water and the sun directly on the skin of his upper body.

Sensing that both his son and the librarian are far enough away, Mr. Gold pushes himself upward on the board, making certain not to lose his balance and fall into the ocean… while ensuring that neither of the two people relatively near to him sees him pull the mostly soaked fabric quickly over his head.

He spreads the shirt out on the board before resting his arms on it and resuming his previous position. This time, his sigh is one of utter happiness now that he has shed his last layer of protection and can enjoy this yet more fully.

The way the cool waves lavish his flushed skin is almost… sensual, he supposes. No matter how easy it would be to imagine, he refuses to wonder whether it would feel like this if Belle were to run her wet hands over his hot skin.

Although he wouldn't dare let his guard down if anyone other than his son and the librarian were around, being in this state of undress and solely relying on a relatively small board in order not to drown, Mr. Gold feels perfectly safe now… more so than when he's all alone in his shop, impeccable suit and all.

Indeed, there's nothing easier than to let his eyes flutter closed and allow the gentle rocking motion of the board to goad him to sleep, a half-smile on his lips even as he dozes off.

An indefinite amount of time later, a perceived presence right at his side brings him back to the world of the waking. Although he's used to jolting to awareness whenever he sleeps in his own bed, the pawnbroker awakens calmly now that he's drifting in the ocean… with Belle French right next to him, as it turns out.

"Hey," he mutters, bringing out the only word he can think of as he finds her face right opposite his own, her arms touching his where they rest on the board as she drifts in the water.

"Ah, you're awake," she says, her eyes yet bluer than the sea and sky all around him, and very close indeed.

"I suppose I am… although it seems to me like I'm dreaming."

"Does it, now?" she murmurs, her gaze lowering to his lips for some reason before flying back to meet his eyes. "I know the feeling."

"You do?!"

He licks his lips in a wholly subconscious manner, considering the situation with his wonderfully lazy mind. Between the heat of the sun and the coolness of the water, it doesn't seem all that bad that Belle is so close to him, half in the water and half on the board he also occupies like some sort of mermaid.

A very kind, lovely and  _beautiful_ mermaid.

Mr. Gold can't help but think that she's not quite unlike the ocean; exhilarating and strong and  _wild_ , yet strangely soft and soothing.

"Oh yes," she whispers, reaching for him with a dripping hand.

Feeling as wonderful as he does, all he can do is stare at her in hopeful bewilderment when she reaches for him and caresses his face. There's no holding back the moan that wells up from deep inside of him when she touches him like this, desire spreading through his whole being more quickly than he can will it away.

She brings her face closer to his, angling her head and shutting her eyes. Rather than a mermaid, she reminds him of a siren now—intoxicating and deathly. After all, there's no way that she could truly  _want_  someone like him.

Half-expecting her to actually grab him and drag him beneath the waves to drown him, his mind swimming with love and longing for her, Mr. Gold closes the distance between them regardless.

He gasps against her lips when their mouths meet and her hands twine affectionately in his hair. Rather than turning into something unpleasant, either of a deathly or a less terminal but still very dreadful nature, the kiss turns out to be exactly that… a gentle, tender  _kiss_.

The discovery that  _Belle_ is kissing  _him_ , however, is alarming in its own right, if in the nicest way possible. It harshly dawns on him that this is  _real_ and that he has to do  _something_ to somehow make certain that she enjoys this, or at least that she won't be overcome by disgust after all.

But before he can determine whether he even knows of  _any_ way to make this good for her, before he can actually enjoy the kiss himself, she's already withdrawing from him.

Mr. Gold belatedly closes his eyes, bowing his head in defeat. He should have known that nothing good could possibly come from this, that there's  _no way_ the two of them could actually…

With a big splash, Belle propels herself out of the water, onto the surfing board and into his arms. One moment she isn't there, and then she just  _is_ , in his embrace, locking her arms behind his neck and crashing her mouth against his and…

Overcome by instinct, the pawnbroker wraps his arms around her back and presses his lips against hers with equal vigor. He doesn't quite know how it all happens, but a moment later her tongue is in his mouth, and he's somehow meeting it in a way that has her moaning in undeniable approval.

Heat infinitely more intense than the summer sun burns all through him, encouraging him to act on what feels right rather than to lose himself in his worries and fears. That's how he ends up kissing Belle back firmly,  _passionately_ , cradling her yet closer to him as she presses her chest against his.

Yet his former conviction that something like this could never happen outside the realms of his dreams and deeply buried fantasies returns with a vengeance when his world turns cold without any warning whatsoever.

He can't  _breathe_ , and although he always thought that being with the love of his life for a moment like the one he just seemed to experience was worth dying for, now that it appears he's actually on his way to getting there, that doesn't seem quite fair.

There's a pressure on first his left arm, then his right as well, before he is hauled upwards and he can breathe again. Gasping and coughing, he collapses when the pressure is replaced by loving caresses on his head and back.

"Easy now, I've got you," a delightfully familiar voice whispers to him. "I've got you, Mr. Gold, and as far as I'm concerned I'm never letting go of you again."

He's very much in favor of that notion, and although he can't quite find the words to tell Belle so, it turns out that his arms are obeying his mind's commands again and that he can wrap them around her middle.

When she sighs happily in response and nothing disastrous happens this time, the pawnbroker slowly but surely realizes that his head is resting on her lap and that the two of them are still floating on the surfboard. He must have fallen off it earlier, when he was too overwhelmed by their kiss to retain his balance.

"That's it, then," she says, leaning over to him to brush her lips against his forehead. "You can't get rid of me anymore now."

"I don't want to anyway," he murmurs, sighing in sheer happiness when she lightly kisses his mouth next. "I don't ever want to be apart from you."

" _Good_."

Although he doesn't see how she can actually kiss him from her position, leaning over him the way she is, they find a way to do so anyway. They are a lot more careful this time, not wishing to cause another unfortunately-timed splash into the ocean, but it seems to the pawnbroker that their kisses hold yet more tenderness and affection than before.

Still, this moment also comes to an unexpected end that has nothing at all to do with the rejection he always expected from her. Instead, it's the sound of cheerful laughter that eventually reaches into their bubble of bliss.

Looking up in the direction of the sound only once Belle has broken their kiss, he finds that his son is watching the two of them with rapt attention from the beach. His smile almost alarmingly wide, the boy claps his hands in approval when he catches their gazes.

" _Finally_ ," Neal exclaims excitedly, "I'm so glad this worked!"

"What worked?" Mr. Gold echoes, utterly dazed.

"The plan," Belle replies, never ceasing to stroke his hair.

"What plan?!"

"Come on, Mr. Gold… to be honest, I'm a little surprised that you fell for this in the first place. The plan wasn't nearly as good as I would have liked, but it was the only way I could think of to get you out of your clothes and get the two of us all… wet."

"Wait, are you saying that…"

"You were set up," she says, winking at him in a way that leaves his blood boiling once more. "The impromptu surfing lesson, the reclusive location, the convenient map… you weren't even suspicious when there just happened to be swimming trunks in your size?"

"But…  _why_?!"

"Isn't it obvious?" she says softly, running her fingers down his chest.

Only then does he recall that he's no longer wearing his undershirt and that she can  _see_ him, that so much of his body is exposed to her strangely hungry gaze. And yet, there's no sign whatsoever that she's displeased by what she sees, as he always thought she would be… quite the opposite.

"I just hope that you enjoy this particular set-up," she adds.

She looks at him intently, her questioning eyes telling him that somehow, she's as uncertain about his feelings for her as he is about hers for him.

"Isn't it obvious?" he whispers, his treacherous eyes roaming down her bikini-clad body.

"I think it finally is."

For once, Mr. Gold can't mask his desire when he looks at her. Which is probably a good thing, because there's something in his eyes that causes Belle to beam at him and lean in to kiss him once more.


End file.
